


Emergency Contact

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This is a birthday fic for Hasbleidy - sorry I didn't have much time to work on it so it's...a rushed attempt to combine some of your prompts together, I hope it's alright. Happy birthday! :)





	Emergency Contact

Barba stopped halfway down the steps, frowning at his phone. He raised it to his ear, glancing to his left as someone brushed past him. He didn’t recognize the number, so he answered with an almost-cautious, “Barba.”

“Mr. Barba? Rafael Barba?”

“That’s right. Who is this?”

“Mr. Barba, this is Mallory Quinn from PS199 calling about Noah Benson?”

Barba’s stomach went instantly cold. “What happened?” he asked, already hurrying the rest of the way down the steps and jogging toward the nearest cab.

“He’s okay,” she answered in a soothing voice that did nothing to soothe Barba. “He fell at recess and the nurse is worried he might have a fracture in his arm.”

Barba had already thrown himself into the back of a taxi before it occurred to him to ask: “Why are you calling me?”

“You’re an emergency contact,” she said.

He shook his head, then frowned at the driver and told him the name of the school. “Yes, of course,” he told Quinn, “but there have to be at least five people ahead of me—”

“You’re third, Mr. Barba,” she cut in calmly. “We’ve been unable to reach Lieutenant Benson or Lucy Huston.”

He blinked in surprise. _Third?_ He wasn’t exactly shocked that Benson hadn’t removed his name from the emergency contacts list, even though their friendship had changed since his departure from the Manhattan DA’s office some seventeen months earlier, but he couldn’t possibly be above—

“Rollins? Amanda Rollins? Or Fin, Carisi—”

“Mr. Barba, Noah needs medical attention. If you’re unable to—”

“No, I’m on my way. I’m on my way.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, trying desperately not to imagine the worst. “But you said he’s okay? A fracture?”

“Just a precaution, hopefully. He needs an x-ray—”

“I can’t make medical decisions.”

“You can.”

He hesitated. “I can?”

“Ms.—Lieutenant Benson filled out the paperwork shortly after Noah started here, Mr. Barba. It was updated at the beginning of the school year, and you have full authority as an emergency contact.”

“But I never—” _signed anything_. He stopped himself. Why was he trying to argue his way into _not_ being able to help? Noah needed him, and wherever Benson was—He shook his head to dislodge more worrisome thoughts. One crisis at a time. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Is that too long? Is he in a lot of pain?” He wasn’t sure what his options were. It wasn’t as though he could hop in a helicopter, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Noah suffering while Barba was making his way through traffic in a cab.

“He’s coping well, Mr. Barba, you just concentrate on getting here safely.”

“Sure. I’m on my way,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

He hung up and immediately texted Rollins. He hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, but he didn’t want to risk trying to contact Benson if she was in the middle of something. It had to be important if she wasn’t answering calls from Noah’s school.

**Where’s Liv, is everything ok?**

Rollins answered within a minute, but the seconds ticking past felt never-ending to Barba. **Hostage situation. Negotiating. Can’t talk.**

**I’m going to pick up Noah**, he answered, trying desperately to control the acid churning in his stomach. **School called me. Have her call me when she can, don’t worry her.**

**What happened?**

**He’s ok but needs an x-ray of his arm. **

**You’ve got it?**

**Yes.**

**Ok.**

Barba dropped the phone onto the seat and scrubbed his hands over his face. How exactly did he _have_ it? He hadn’t seen Noah in…how many months? He’d spoken to him on the phone at Christmas, and on his birthday…but Barba wasn’t particularly welcome to stop by unannounced at the Benson apartment anymore.

Barba had no idea if Noah would be happy to see him or not. The kid might take a kick at his shins, and Barba wouldn’t really be able to blame him. None of that mattered, though. Bridges could be crossed in due time. All that mattered was making sure Noah was safe.

* * *

Noah didn’t try to kick him, of course, but he also hadn’t said a whole lot to Barba after the initial “What’re you doing here?” Barba, who’d never been good at talking simply to fill a silence, had made a few stilted attempts at conversation before deciding to let the kid have his peace.

It had been two hours and Barba still hadn’t heard from Benson, and he was losing the battle with his anxiety. “You were very brave, _mijo_,” he said absently as he and Noah walked out of the hospital. Noah had an Ace wrap around his forearm, but the x-ray had shown no breaks; nothing worse than a sprained wrist and some scrapes and bruises.

“I’m not your son,” Noah answered quietly, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk.

Barba looked down at him. “No. It’s just a…term of affection.”

Noah mulled that over in silence for a few moments. “What’s ‘affection’ mean?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Barba said. He watched Noah’s profile, saw the boy glance sideways at him from beneath his curls. Barba was sure that Noah knew what the word meant; he was fishing. “Well, let’s see. When you feel affection for someone, it means you like them. Maybe give them nicknames, like _amigo_, friend. Buddy. Or like how you call me Uncle Rafa.” Noah hadn’t actually called him that in months, Barba realized. Noah hadn’t called him _anything_ during their last phone conversations.

“That’s what Mom told me to,” Noah said.

“I see,” Barba answered. “In that case, you can call me something else if you’d like.”

“What would I call you if I don’t have _affection_?” Noah asked.

Barba kept his features composed because the boy was still looking sideways at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Mr. Barba, maybe? Rafael?”

“Oh.”

“Noah, if you want me to stop calling you _mijo_, I will.”

Noah shrugged. “S’okay,” he answered.

“As long as you don’t tell your mother, you can call me an asshole if you want.”

Noah looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. When he saw Barba’s small, crooked smile, he burst out laughing. “That’s what _she_ calls you.”

Barba grimaced. That hurt, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “I guess I deserve that,” he said. “Listen, Noah, I want—”

Noah had stopped and was staring at him, his brows knitted together, all traces of amusement gone from his young face. “Not really,” he said, and Barba was struck dumb by the boy’s earnestness. “I was only kidding.”

“Oh—okay, Noah, it’s alright.”

Noah held his injured arm against himself, picking absently at the edge of the bandage with his other hand. “Aunt Amanda called you a jerk one time and Mom got mad at her.”

Barba knew his relief was irrational. He scratched the back of his head and laughed. “That’s funny,” he said. It _was_ funny. He poked Noah’s shoulder with a finger. “Good one, Noah, you got me.” He laughed again, shaking his head.

Noah looked relieved, and his face split into a tentative smile. “I got you,” he said.

Barba chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “When did you get so funny?”

“Yesterday,” Noah answered without missing a beat, and Barba laughed again.

“I’ve missed you,” Barba said without thinking. He hadn’t meant to blurt the words out, but once they were in the air he wasn’t sorry.

“You can come over sometimes again, Mom’s not mad anymore,” Noah told him, and the hopeful gleam in his eyes was enough to add a fresh crack to Barba’s battered heart.

“It’s not…” He trailed off. He’d been about to say _it’s not that simple_, but how complicated was it, really? “I’m sorry,” he said instead, settling a hand onto Noah’s shoulder. “Aunt Amanda was right, I’m a jerk.”

Noah laughed. “But I still love you, though.”

The words were said so matter-of-factly that Barba couldn’t respond for several seconds. He cleared the lump from his throat, tightening his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “Love you, too, buddy,” he said. His voice was gruffer than he intended, but Noah didn’t seem to mind. He beamed at Barba, and Barba bent down to place an impulsive kiss to the boy’s messy curls. “Always, _mijo_,” he murmured, giving the kid’s hair another quick ruffle as he straightened. “Come on, we should get you home. How’s your arm feeling?”

Noah shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m hungry.”

Before Barba could answer, his phone rang in his pocket. He fished the cell out quickly, hoping to see Benson’s name on his screen, and he felt a rush of relief when he saw that it _was_ the lieutenant calling.

“Liv—”

“Do you have Noah?” she asked without preamble. He could hear the strain in her voice, the carefully-controlled fear.

“Yes. He’s fine. Are you—”

“I can’t talk, I’m in the middle of—Tell me he’s okay, Barba.”

“He’s fine,” he repeated. The details could wait.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Don’t worry about us—about him. Do whatever you need to do.”

There were several seconds of silence. “Rafael,” she finally said. There was another pause, and she decided against whatever she’d been about to say. “Take care of my kid,” she said instead.

“Take care of yourself,” he answered. “We’ll see you when you get home.”

“Thank you,” she said, hanging up before he could say anything in response.

He did his best to tamp down his fear for her safety. He knew she could take care of herself, although that had never stopped him from worrying about her. He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “That was your mom, she’s still busy at work,” he told Noah. “Come on, let’s head—” They’d only taken a few steps when Barba stopped again. “Do you have a key to your apartment?” he asked.

Noah looked stricken for a moment. “I left my backpack at school,” he said.

“That’s okay.” Barba debated. He had a key to Benson’s apartment, but it was at home. It hadn’t felt right to wander the streets with it in his pocket when he knew he wasn’t welcome to use it and she’d probably forgotten he had it. “Let’s get a cab.” He could go home and get his key, or they could go back to Noah’s school to get _his_ key. It was still early afternoon, but he wasn’t about to make Noah finish the school day. They could get his stuff and go home.

“Uncle Rafa?” Noah said as Barba hailed a cab.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Can I get a hot dog?”

“A hot dog?” Barba repeated, ushering the boy into the back of the taxi. “Do you have hot dogs at home?”

The look Noah gave him made Barba laugh as he settled onto the seat beside the boy. “I mean a _real_ hot dog,” Noah said.

“There’s no such thing,” Barba answered. He glanced at his watch.

“Can we go look at the boats?”

“The boats? What boats?”

“At the pier.”

“I don’t know, Noah, I think we should get your bag and go home to wait for your mom.”

“Please?” Noah asked.

Barba looked at Noah. “Don’t you want to go home and rest your arm?”

The boy stared back at him with big blue eyes and a hopeful expression. The curls bounced on his forehead when he shook his head. “_Please_?”

* * *

“Uncle Rafa?”

Barba wasn’t sure how they’d ended up staring at the bright yellow IKEA ferry while Noah polished off his second hot dog, but Noah’s mood had significantly improved since leaving the hospital and Barba supposed that was all that really mattered.

He looked at his watch again. “Yes?” he answered. Benson had texted him nearly twenty minutes ago to say she was headed home, and Barba had answered—with a mixture of relief that she was alright and guilt that he didn’t have her kid at home waiting for her—with their location, asking if she wanted him to meet her at her apartment. She’d said she would meet them at the pier, instead.

_I should’ve at least gone back to the school for Noah’s stuff_, Barba thought with another stab of guilt. _Now it’s the weekend and she’ll have to worry about it on Monday morning._

“Uncle Rafa,” Noah repeated, and Barba looked at him, noting the frown on his forehead and the worry in his blue eyes.

Barba bent down automatically. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a scary man following us,” Noah whispered.

Barba’s stomach squirmed nervously at the boy’s hushed proclamation, and he barely resisted the urge to immediately look over his shoulder. He didn’t doubt Noah’s instincts; it didn’t even occur to him that he _should_. Noah was Olivia Benson’s son, and his age didn’t negate his instincts.

“Scary, how?” Barba murmured, studying the boy’s face.

“I think he’s mad at you.”

_That narrows it down to half the city_, Barba thought. “Okay. We’ll just walk up here—”

“Mr. Barba? Thought that was you,” a voice said behind him, and Barba met Noah’s worried gaze.

“It’s okay,” Barba said, offering the boy a small smile and nod to reassure him. He turned toward the other man, putting a hand onto Noah’s shoulder. “Can I help you?” he asked. The man’s face was familiar, but it took a few moments for Barba to place him. By the time he remembered, it was too late.

“You’ve been tough to track down these days,” the man said, stepping close and pulling a gun from inside his jacket before Barba had a chance to react.

“I’m not hiding, Mr. Malone,” Barba said through suddenly-numb lips. He glanced up and down the pier, but no one was paying them any attention. Malone was standing close to Barba, the gun’s muzzle pressed beneath Barba’s ribs, hidden from view by his blazer. “In fact, I’m more than happy to go somewhere and talk this out,” he added, speaking quickly to override the panic trying to claw through him. “But we’re not going to do this with the kid here, so why don’t you think about what—”

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Malone cut in, glancing at Noah.

Barba squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “Mr. Malone, put the gun away. You want to do this in front of all these people? You want to end up in prison with your—”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Malone cut in, and his voice—and the cold hatred shining in his dark eyes—sent a frisson of fear through Barba. He knew what Malone was going to say before the words left the man’s mouth: “He’s dead. You sent him into the lion’s den—”

“He sent himself there,” Barba hissed. “I’m sorry you lost your brother, Mr. Malone, but—”

“Kid, come here,” Malone said, motioning toward Noah with a hand.

“No,” Barba said sharply.

Malone shoved the gun into his side hard enough to make Barba wince. “Come here or I’ll shoot him,” he told Noah.

“Stay behind me,” Barba said, but Noah was already stepping forward. Barba tried to pull him back, but Malone suddenly shoved at Barba’s chest with his free hand, catching him completely off guard and sending him stumbling backward. Malone already had a hand around Noah’s throat when Barba hit the railing. The gun was pointed at Barba’s face; there was no hiding it now, and he heard—vaguely, through the roar of blood in his ears—people reacting. None of that mattered.

Malone had picked Noah up off the ground by his throat. That was the only thing that mattered. Noah was making strangled sounds and trying to kick at the man, clutching at Malone’s wrist.

“Stop, _stop! Please!_” Barba said, shoving himself off the railing. Half of him expected Malone to pull the trigger and take off his head. “It’s me you want, me, _let him go Malone_,” Barba pleaded. “Shoot me if you want but—_No!_” He lunged forward but was again too late.

Malone sidestepped and threw Noah over the railing, flinging him like a scrap of debris toward the East River. Noah didn’t make a sound as he fell, too breathless to scream, but Barba heard the splash as he hit the cold, rough water.

“God damn it,” Barba said. He was already climbing up the railing. He heard shouts behind him and he flinched as a gunshot tore through the air, half-bracing himself for the bite of the bullet. The pain never came, though, and he didn’t care what was happening behind him. Noah had struggled his way to the surface, but he was flailing, desperately trying to keep his head above the choppy waves. 

Barba shucked his blazer and stepped over the railing. He knew he had to stay calm; panicking would help nothing, but the sight of Noah being sucked under the dark water—

Barba dove awkwardly, his loafers slipping against the metal bar. He hit the river hard, and the cold water swallowed him, pressing in on him. He clawed his way to the surface with a gasp. For a moment he couldn’t see Noah, and the panic almost took over. “Noah!” he called hoarsely.

“Uncle Rafa,” the boy answered, and then Barba spotted him bobbing several yards away, being carried by the current. Barba kicked himself forward, propelled by adrenaline, and he saw Noah struggling in vain to swim toward him.

Barba had never been a frequent swimmer, but he crossed to the boy in record time and grabbed him by the shirt. “You’re okay,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as Noah. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Noah was crying, and he latched onto Barba, clinging to his neck, and Barba barely kept his head above water. He fought his way toward the pier, spitting out a mouthful of disgusting water.

“Hand him up!” a voice called, and Barba saw a few people lying on their stomachs with their heads under the railing, reaching down toward the water.

“Reach up for their hands, Noah,” Barba said. “Be careful of his arm,” he told the man above him, although he supposed a sprained wrist wasn’t Noah’s main concern at the moment. Barba hoisted the boy out of the water, forcing himself under in the process.

When he dragged himself back to the surface, coughing out more of the river, the men were reaching down for him. He reached up and caught their wrists. His grip was slippery, but they held him before he could lose his hold, and then they were hauling him up and the water was sluicing off his suit. He barely felt the pain in his stomach and knees as he scraped and banged his way along.

“Where’s Noah?” he panted as soon as he was sprawled on the pier. He shoved himself up, looking around. Several people were holding Malone with his arms behind his back.

“Barba,” a familiar voice said, and he turned to find Benson rushing toward him. She had Noah in her arms, but as she neared Barba she set the boy on his feet and grabbed for Barba’s soaked shirt.

“Liv, I—” was all he managed before her lips smashed into his.

He froze. He knew she hadn’t meant to kiss him on the mouth. Blame it on adrenaline, fear, relief, gratitude—whatever the reason, he felt the contact all the way down to his toes and he realized he wasn’t wearing shoes. He must’ve kicked them off in the river, not even aware of doing it because he was so focused on Noah.

He felt her body go still, and he expected her to pull away. Maybe to stammer out an apology. He tried to prepare himself so he could school his expression.

She ran her tongue along his lower lip. The touch was tentative, questioning—and too much for his overwhelmed body and mind. His left hand settled onto her hip; the fingers of his right hand tangled into her hair as he cupped his palm to her cheek. He tipped his head to give her a better angle, and she didn’t need any more invitation.

Her tongue ventured into his mouth, staking a claim he’d always wanted her to stake, and he groaned, unaware of anything but her—everything about her—and the heat spreading through his chilled body.

She flattened herself against him, pressing his cold clothes tighter against his skin, and he broke away from her mouth with a gasp.

“I’m—wet—” he said breathlessly—and stupidly. He tried to clear the unexpected fog of desire from his brain, giving his head a little shake.

She gained her composure quicker, and he wasn’t surprised. “Sorry,” she said, taking a small step back. She didn’t let go of his shirt, but she reached back with her other hand and grabbed her son by the shoulder, pulling him forward.

Barba grabbed the boy’s head, pushing the wet hair off his forehead, searching his face. “Are you okay?” he asked. Noah nodded, his lip trembling. “Honey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry _mijo_,” he said, pulling the kid into a tight hug. Noah buried his face against Barba’s wet shirt. The boy’s slender body was shivering, and Barba looked around for his suit jacket. He spotted it on the ground beside the railing, and someone snatched it up and handed it to him. He offered an absent word of thanks and wrapped the blazer around the boy. “You’re freezing, let’s get you out of here.”

“You’re both freezing,” Benson said, and he looked up at her face, suddenly realizing that he was shivering, too. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. She was holding onto him. “We need to get out of here.”

“Where’s Malone?” Barba asked. Now that he’d realized how cold he was, he could hear the tremor in his own voice. His reflexes were slowed. He hadn’t even noticed the cops showing up. “Oh,” he said. “I need to explain what happened—”

“I saw what happened,” Benson cut in, and he heard the edge of fear that she was trying to hide. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”

He blinked her face into focus. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. He had enough self-awareness to realize he wasn’t in very good shape. “Sorry. I’m okay,” he managed. “Don’t worry about me—”

“Shut up,” she said, but her expression was kind. “You and Noah are freezing. It’s raining—”

He blinked up at the dark sky. “It’s raining?” he asked as he finally felt the drops peppering his chilled cheeks. “God, I’m a terrible babysitter.”

Benson laughed, and the sound was almost enough to push the coldness out of his body. Her hands were warm against his cheeks when she turned his face toward hers, and her lips were soft and warm when she pressed them against his.

“I’m probably taking advantage here,” she murmured, her eyes flicking up to his.

“I’m not _that_ out of it,” he said. She smiled. “But if I say something stupid, don’t let me take it back later.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Stupid? Like what?”

“Like, I’m sorry I’m an asshole who ruined everything and I love you and please give me another chance.” Her eyes widened and her lips parted. Barba bent and grabbed Noah up into his arms, tucking the jacket more firmly around the trembling boy. Barba was wet and cold and couldn’t offer the kid much warmth, but they just had to get to Benson’s car—wherever that was.

Noah wrapped his arms around Barba’s neck and legs around his waist. He was too old to be carried, but neither of them cared.

“That’s stupid?” Benson asked, putting her hand against Barba’s back to steer him where he was supposed to go.

“It’s stupid I was too chickenshit to say it before now,” he said.

“Oh? You’re feeling brave now?” she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He didn’t dare look at her; it was taking all his concentration to walk.

“Must be all the East River I swallowed,” Barba said.

“You’re gonna be a superhero,” Noah mumbled against Barba’s shoulder, and Barba laughed, hugging him tighter. He chanced a glance at Benson and saw her confusion.

“Because it’s radioactive,” Barba told her. “Right, Noah?”

The boy giggled, and hypothermia didn’t stand a chance against that sound.

Barba cast Benson a grin. “He’s been funny since yesterday,” he told her.

* * *

“You…baked cupcakes?” Barba asked, staring at the chocolate concoction she’d just placed in his hand. She’d peeled the paper off and set the cupcake on a napkin. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry at the subtle touch of mothering.

“I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself,” she admitted with a small, strained smile. “I didn’t want to crawl into bed with Noah and risk waking him up. He needs his sleep.” She paused. “Thought about curling up next to you…”

“Could’ve done that,” he answered slowly. He’d been in no frame of mind to argue when she’d insisted he was coming back to her apartment, and he hadn’t objected when she’d given him sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into from his wet clothes. He’d certainly had no intention of falling asleep on her couch, but he woke up two hours later to find himself snuggled under a fuzzy blanket, toasty warm and surrounded by the comforting smell of baked chocolate.

Now he was sitting on the sofa with the blanket draped around his shoulders and flopped over his legs. His bare feet were on the rug. Benson was standing beside him, studying him. She’d set a glass of milk on the coffee table and a cupcake in his hand.

He was hungry—the grumble from his stomach was enough to prove that—but he was as hungry for contact as anything else. He could still feel the pressure of her lips colliding with his, could still taste her tongue in his mouth. He wanted to feel her fingers in his hair and her breath on his neck.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked, staring up at her.

She shook her head slowly. He saw emotion flit across her features and knew she still hadn’t recovered from seeing her son first thrown into, and then fished out of, the East River. The look that settled into her expression was soft, though. _Affectionate_, he thought, smiling as he thought of his conversation with Noah.

Barba pulled the edge of the blanket up and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, silently inviting her into his cocoon. For a few seconds, the only sounds in the apartment were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the steady patter of rain against the window. Then the sofa creaked and rustled as Benson sank into the cushion and snuggled against his side, drawing her bent legs up so that her knees were resting against his thigh.

He draped the blanket around her and let his arm settle over her shoulders. She laid her head against his shoulder and flattened a palm against his chest, and he closed his eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her head.

“Do you want _me_ to talk?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “You can tell me you were an asshole who ruined everything and that you love me and beg me for a second chance later,” she murmured.

He smiled. “I don’t think I said _beg_.” He waited until she lifted her head to look at him. “But if you want me to…” he added, raising his brows.

She smiled, too. “I don’t,” she assured him, patting lightly at his chest for a moment. “Except maybe the middle part. But right now I just want to…be here, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. “When you want to talk about what happened earlier, I’m here.” They both knew he didn’t only mean what had happened with him and Noah, but what she’d been through at work, too.

She leaned closer, tipping her face toward his. “Thanks,” she whispered. She found his lips with hers and let the touch linger, soft, equal parts promise and tease. “You gonna hold that all night?” she asked after a moment as she cut her gaze toward the cupcake.

He laughed and held it toward her, edging the chocolatey goodness toward her lips. Instead of pushing his hand away, she opened her mouth and met his eyes as she bit off a piece of cupcake. He managed to catch the few falling crumbs with the napkin, but he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

His gaze dropped to the smudge of chocolate frosting stuck to her upper lip. She swallowed her mouthful of cupcake and said, “Good. You gonna try some?”

“Mhmm,” he answered. He tilted his head toward hers and paused, flicking his eyes up to meet hers for permission. She raised her eyebrows in challenge. He shifted a little closer and flicked the tip of his tongue against her lips, licking away the dollop of frosting.

She laughed—the closest thing to a giggle he’d ever heard from Olivia Benson—and snaked her fingers into his hair while she kissed him in earnest. She tasted like chocolate and the home he’d always craved, and he wanted to kiss her forever. Her fingers were twirling in the hair at his nape, and her other hand had settled onto his thigh.

“I did make it out of the river, right?” he murmured against her lips.

“You worried you died and went to heaven, here?” she teased.

“Either that or this is some cruel trick of my brain and I’ll wake up in a—” She silenced him with another kiss and plucked the cupcake and napkin from his hand. A moment later she held it toward his lips and smirked at him.

Barba laughed. “What’re the odds we could get some actual dinner?” he asked, grimacing as his stomach grumbled again.

“There’s pizza.”

“There is?”

“Yup.”

“I slept through _pizza_?”

She grinned at him. “You had a rough afternoon.” Her fingers tickled his upper thigh. “Are you _very_ hungry, Barba?”

“Oh, I think a cupcake will hold me over for a while,” he laughed. “If you have something else in mind.”

“I do. Can we pretend we’re teenagers and just make out for an hour or two?”

“Noah’s sleeping?”

“He is.”

“Can I give you a hickey?” he teased.

“As long as it’s low enough to hide with my shirt.” When he grinned at her, she laughed and said, “Not _that_ low.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promised with a mischievous gleam in his eyes that made her laugh again.

She stretched her leg over his lap. “Not a _perfect_ gentleman, I hope,” she said, walking her fingers up his nape. She bumped the frosting against his lip. “Hey, you want me to get that for you?”

“Yes, please,” he laughed. He ran his hand up her leg, over her hip, and held on to her as she went to work cleaning up his lips.


End file.
